


A Fool's Proposal

by GuileandGall



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Commitment, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: Rhys wants to prove his love and commitment to Dorian. When pressed, Dorian makes a most outlandish suggestion. The inquisitor is a man of great bravery and at least as much foolhardiness.





	A Fool's Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a prompt from @inuy21: “I jokingly told you that the only way I’d marry you was if you did this weird outlandish thing, and you actually did it, and I’m kind of charmed.”

**-1-**

Rhys snapped his hips against Dorian’s with abandon. As his lover cried out in passion, Rhys grabbed his shoulder and pulled Dorian toward him. “Tell me, Dorian,” he growled against his ear.

“Ah, yes, Rhys! Like that.”

The inquisitor sank his teeth into the mage’s shoulder, savoring the breathless hiss it brought to Dorian’s lips. “Not what I wanted to know. What do I have to do to get you to marry me?” he said between his own lascivious grunts.

He didn’t get an answer before Dorian came hard, one hand wrapped around his own cock as Rhys fucked him. Thick ribbons of semen fluttered to the hardwood floor in the candlelight. The ripples of pleasure coursing through Dorian pulled Rhys with him. The smooth movement of the inquisitor’s hips going jerky as he spilled deep inside his lover.

The hand, which moments earlier had been pulling Dorian’s hips back into Rhys’ thrusts, reached out for the wall so Rhys could steady himself against his lover’s back. He pressed soft kisses over Dorian’s shoulder while the man’s head still hung limp against his chest.

“I always did prefer fucking to fighting,” Dorian quipped, turning his head and pecking Rhys on the tip of his nose.

Rhys laughed. With a groan, he pulled out. The sound his lover made bordered on a whimper. Rhys gave Dorian a swat on his perky rear before he crossed the room to the basin of water he’d been using to wash with when the argument started then turned into rough sex. “Why won’t you give me an answer?”

“The Chantry will never allow it.”

“Fuck the Chantry. And since when do you give two figs what the Chantry will and will not allow?”

“I don’t.” Dorian wandered over and collapsed onto the bed. He laid himself on his side, looking like temptation itself even if his cock was softening in the cool breezes let into the chambers by the large open windows. The candlelight flickered off his glistening, tawny skin, accentuating the curve of lean muscle.

Rhys looked away in an effort to keep his argument strong this time around. Turning his attention to the washing bowl, he swirled the cloth, wrung it out, and dragged it over his skin, hissing as the now cold water hit his searing skin.

“You should have bathed when it was warm,” Dorian teased.

“Kind of hard to concentrate on bathing when you’re sucking my cock and looking up at me with those eyes.”

For good measure, the mage batted his eyes at the inquisitor.

“My point exactly,” Rhys insisted. He gritted his teeth as he pulled the cold cloth over his softening member. He rinsed the cloth again and held it out to Dorian, who declined.

“With the way this conversation’s going, we’re going to end up fucking again.”

Rhys laughed. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers traced Dorian’s brow then dipped them into his hair. The mage’s eyes closed and his head dropped back with a content hum. He, essentially, petted his lover a few times, waiting for those beautiful, engaging eyes of his to open once again. When they did, he pled his case once more.  “You said you wanted more. But when I offer it you behave as if I’ve told the most hilarious joke in all of Thedas.”

“Rhys, you must be practical.”

“Practical bores me. If I wanted practical, I would have let my mother invest me in the Chantry,” Rhys countered, shooting to his feet and walking away from the bed. He set his hands on his hips and paced the width of the carpet. Then he turned and stared at his lover. “Maker,” he mumbled. Rhys threw his hands up and stalked toward the balcony, in the buff.

“What are you doing?” Dorian asked, scampering off the bed to follow him.

Taking a deep breath Rhys prepared to yell his declaration for anyone still awake in Skyhold to hear it. “I lo—”

A hand clamped over his mouth as Dorian landed against him. “Don’t you dare.”

Rhys turned in his grasp. He set his hands-on Dorian’s hips and walked him back against the stone wall. His nose brushed the mage’s as their body heat mingled. “So, I can make you scream my name in pleasure with every window open, but to tell everyone we know that my heart is yours is taboo?”

Dorian didn’t answer him.

“You know they all know, right?” Rhys added.

“I’m aware,” Dorian said through the tight set of his mouth.

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” The word came out as a sigh as he set his hands on either side of Rhys’ neck. “I’m not ashamed of you or this or us, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then why?”

“This is ours. I want it to be just for us.”

“And marriage would somehow be for someone else?” Rhys asked.

“It’s the Chantry’s ceremony.”

Rhys smirked and brushed his nose against Dorian’s. “Like you said, they won’t perform the rite for us. So, why not make it our own? Something that is yours and mine? Just ours?”

Dorian let out a slow breath of resignation, or so Rhys took it to be. “You’re not going to let go of this, are you?”

“Not as long as there is breath in my lungs to ask the question.”

“Fine. You said you’d do anything for my hand, right?” Dorian’s mischievous countenance told Rhys the mage was going to make it a challenge, which was fine by the ranger. He’d do anything Dorian asked to prove how much he loved him, how much he wanted him in his life. “I’ll marry you, if and only if, you kill a dragon—singlehandedly.”

“Done.” Rhys pecked him on the lips as his jaw dropped. “Now, how about we go back to bed? And since you didn’t wash yet, I won’t feel the least bit guilty about making you all sweaty again.” Their makeup sex could be as hot and heavy as their angry, argument sex.

 

**-2-**

Dorian found his gaze wandering to the window more than following the text on the page. Rhys had sent word to expect him back at Skyhold two days ago. While it was not uncommon for his plans to divert, the mage still worried. He tried to force his attention back to the book in his hand, but every laugh, every hoof beat called his eyes away.

“What have you done to me, Rhys Trevelyan?” he whispered as he stood and re-shelved the book. He paced two steps before stopping himself.

The sound of a cart drew his attention and he leaned out the window—a part of him expected the worst, perhaps to see Rhys laid out in the back of it, set in repose.

Dorian’s head tilted at the sight. There was a body in the cart, well, more like a carcass. Riding slowly behind it were Rhys, Cassandra, Bull, and Solas. Bull looked rather sullen, while Solas seemed to be enjoying his ride. Cassandra’s face looked as dour as usual but Rhys was smiling like the cat who ate the canary. It took a moment for Dorian to add up all the details, then to recall the argument nearly a month earlier.

“No,” he breathed, staring at the dragon in the cart.

The way Rhys jumped off his horse and sprinted for the keep confirmed his suspicions. Less than a minute later, the inquisitor entered Dorian’s sitting area in the library. Without a hint of ceremony or even a hello, Rhys kissed him.

Dorian melted into it, savoring every second. Rhys was an amazing kisser. When it broke, the mage’s nose wrinkled. “You smell of blood and horse.”

“Get used to it,” Rhys teased, inching closer. “I did it.”

“Did what?” Dorian asked, slipping from betwixt Rhys and the wall.

“I killed your dragon, singlehandedly.”

Feigning ignorance, Dorian plucked a book from the shelf and thumbed through the pages as if looking for something specific. “And?”

“And you said you’d marry me, if I bested a dragon on my own,” Rhys reminded. Then he took the book out of Dorian’s hand and turned it right side up. The inquisitor’s mouth brushed the shell of his ear, his breath teasing across Dorian’s skin. “Next time if you’re going to play dumb, try harder.”

“Clearly I’m not as adept at it as some people.” He snapped the book closed and placed it back on the shelf. “Did you really?”

“I did. You can ask Bull.” Rhys’ hands went to the shelf on either side of Dorian’s shoulders. “When, will you realize that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Dorian Pavus?”

Dorian had expected Rhys to kiss him again; so, when he turned and headed for the stairs, Dorian stood there dumbfounded a moment. Then he gave chase. He caught up with the long-striding man in his quarters. Rhys was peeling out of his armor, and it was then that Dorian realized the cause for the delay.  Rhys’ body was covered in bandages, and what wasn’t wrapped was bruised, reddened, or scratched.

“Rhys!” Dorian breathed, the air catching in his throat. “What happened?”

“Thought I already told you that.”

Dorian touched his chest, earning a hiss from his lover. “Maker’s breath, Rhys. Why?” His hands rushed to help the man undress but not for any lustful reasons, it was compassionate concern.

“Damnit, Dorian!”

The curse made the mage freeze.

“You know damn well why,” Rhys snapped, his face screwing up in pain.

“I know, I know. But what happened?”

Rhys’ glare softened and his head bobbed a moment. “Sometimes I didn’t run fast enough.”

“You, foolish man.”

Rhys touched his face, bringing Dorian’s frantic gaze back to the familiar vibrant green of his lover’s “I would suffer anything for you. Perform any task you asked that might deem me worthy of having you in my life.”

The tone of his voice reached out and wrapped itself around Dorian’s heart like a vice. It pained him to think it had been his stubbornness that brought this suffering on the man he loved. “Rhys.” Dorian touched his cheek; it seemed the only unbruised spot on his body. “I am in your life. And you’re part of mine. You have my heart,” he admitted. “And I don’t want it back. I want you to carry it always because I know it could have no more fervent protector.”

Rhys’ soft smile was all the response Dorian needed or waited for.

“And if you ever do something this foolish again, I’ll kill you myself.”

The inquisitor grabbed the front of Dorian’s robes and pulled him in for a kiss. The mage managed to remember to keep his hands on his lover’s face rather than letting them roam anywhere else.

“Let me help you into a bath. I think I have a tincture that might help with the ache,” Dorian told Rhys, offering his hand. The inquisitor laid his hand in his lovers. “Well, talk more of this once you’re healed. I promise.”


End file.
